


Brendon story #1

by fictionalaspect



Series: Unfinished, Abandoned, Snippets, Bits and Pieces [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Adolescent Sexuality, Coming Out, Coming of Age, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," Brendon fumbles, and Max swigs his beer and says, "Uh, don't punch me if I'm wrong, but you <i>are </i>into dudes, right?"</p><p>Brendon looks at him for a minute, and then he smiles and sort of shrugs. It's the best he can do right now. At least he's being honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brendon story #1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an odd story, and one that I would probably file under "gen" if there wasn't so much sex in it. It's essentially just a story about Brendon coming to terms with his own sexuality, with the idea that eventually it would turn into Brendon/Spencer. I'm not sure why I ever stopped writing it, but I posted it as an abandoned WIP a while ago, so I guess it's finished.

The first time Brendon jerks off, he's not thinking about anyone.

Mostly, Brendon's wondering why the hell he waited so long, and also that his parents and family and church need to go suck it because this feels awesome. And then he's _really_ not thinking about anything, because he's having a sudden and overwhelming out-of-body experience that he will later connect to the word "orgasm."

It's pretty much the best thing ever.

—

From then on, Brendon jerks off a lot. It's a great time-waster. As well as being awesome.

—

Despite all the jerking off, Brendon doesn't actually have access to a whole lot of porn. It's material evidence of his sins; it's dangerous to have around. There's a computer, of course, but his whole family shares it and Brendon is not quite that stupid.

Maybe it's because Brendon's never actually staring at a particular girl's naked breasts when he jerks off; either way, for two years Brendon doesn't really jerk off thinking about other people. He thinks about sex, and how it would be amazing, and he thinks about breasts and long legs and all the ways girls are soft, especially on the inside. But he's not thinking about actual people, just amalgamations of body parts, his ideal girl.

(Okay, so once or twice Brendon jerks off thinking about Selma Blair, but that doesn't count.)

The point is that the first time Brendon jerks off thinking about an actual, real live person, he's in the shower and he's thinking about Ryan Ross and that will never not be both cringe-worthy and funny.

—

It wasn't on purpose, though.

Brendon at 17 is man enough to admit that he's weirdly fascinated with Ryan. Ryan's tall and thin and temperamental, and strangely kind when he wants to be. He's got jagged edges and a deep monotone. He wears skinny jeans and sometimes he chews on his lip when he's distracted, and bites the cuticles of his long fingers with a worried expression. Brendon can't figure him out.

So Brendon's thinking about Ryan, and he's in the shower, and it's like his brain just skips ahead a few steps and connects the two without his permission. Brendon's suddenly struck by a picture-perfect vision of Ryan on his knees, shirtless, mouthing at Brendon's hipbones, and his hand is wrapping around his cock before he really thinks twice about it. In his head, he can see the spray of water droplets as they drip down Ryan's bangs, the way Ryan would flick his eyes up at Brendon, unsure and trying to hide it, before moving lower. Before he would wrap his lips around Brendon's cock and then maybe pull back and run his tongue over the slit, and—

"Oh fuck," Brendon says suddenly. His eyes fly open as he comes. He gets a fair amount of spunk on the shower wall, and he wipes it off with a grimace. His legs are post-orgasm shaky.

There's a knock on the bathroom door, and Brendon almost falls over. Thank god it's a tiny shower cubicle.

"Dude," Ryan says, and sticks his head in. "You left your apartment door open, asshole. I could be a serial killer."

"Ryan!" Brendon yelps. "Dude. _In the shower._ Private Brendon time, Jesus."

"Please don't tell me you're jerking off," Ryan says.

"I'm not," Brendon says, ignoring the fact that his statement would have been a lie roughly three minutes ago. If he wasn't in the shower, his palms would be sweating. "But I'm—really naked. So get the fuck out of my bathroom."

"Whatever," Ryan says, shaking his head. "Do you have any more of those Cup o' Noodle things? I'm starving."

"Yeah, but if it's the last one, don't eat it," Brendon says. Ryan nods, salutes, and then finally closes the bathroom door.

Brendon tips his head back against the shower wall and wonders if this is when shit starts to get interesting.

—

It's a little weird when you realize you want to have sex with most of the population.

Well, okay. Not most of it. Brendon's really referring to the segment of the world's population that is under thirty, and hot, and also on tour with him.

It's just that Brendon is totally surrounded by attractive, interesting people, all of whom are crammed on top of each other and spend a lot of time half-naked. And yeah, his band is making a name for themselves with the stage-gay, but there's a pretty big disconnect between flirting with Ryan on-stage and getting distracted by Spencer's hands when he's twirling a pen between his fingers. Or between joking with Pete about how he'd totally suck his dick, and actually considering what it might be like to go down on William. He's got long fingers. Brendon wonders if he'd pull on his hair. Maybe on a couch, somewhere, and then Bill could wrap those legs around Brendon's waist and arch his back—

Anyway.

It's mostly weird because, unlike high school, Brendon is actually getting laid on a semi-regular basis. Brendon has now successfully stuck his dick in other people's orifices—always with their permission, of course—and he kind of thought that was supposed to stem the tide a little bit, but instead he just wants more. Brendon wants a lot of naked skin, and he wants to try _everything_ , and sometimes he thinks it's really a shame that they can't all just get wasted and have a big fucking tour orgy.

A guy can dream, right?

—

Spencer's jerking off on the bus.

He's being really quiet, but there's really only one explanation for that rhythmic rustling noise. Brendon's first impulse is to do something absolutely awful, like yank Spencer's curtain back and jump on top of him and cackle as Spencer freaks out.

He's not a complete asshole, so he doesn't, but he kind of wants to.

Instead, Brendon lays there and listens, which is also sort of creepy but hey, he's not the one jerking off in the bunks. Brendon gets himself off in the bathroom, thanks. He has standards. He listens to the slight intake of breath on the upstroke, to the tiny, choked-off noise that Spencer makes when he starts to speed up.

It's actually really hot, and Brendon is seriously debating another quick bathroom break when Ryan sleepily fumbles a hand out of his curtain. He reaches down and slaps his hand on the support beam between Spencer's bunk and Brendon's and slurs out, "Dude, cut it out, that's so gross." He's trying to sound pissed off, but Brendon can hear a hint of laughter in Ryan's voice, and he just loses it. He starts cracking up, because it's _funny_. He's on a tour bus and he's a fucking rock star and apparently that translates to listening to your band-mates jerk off at 2:30 in the morning.

Brent sticks his head out of his bunk and mumbles, "Th' fuck?" and it just makes Brendon laugh harder.

"I hate you," Spencer mumbles. "All of you. I am going to have the worst blue-balls ever, you fucking dickbags."

"It's cool," Brendon snickers, pushing the words through the laughter still bubbling up in his chest. "Don't mind us. Please, continue."

"Don't you dare," Ryan mumbles.

"You're all assholes," Spencer says, and kicks his legs out through the curtain. He's wearing a pair of sleep pants and a tshirt, and Brendon can tell he's totally tucked his hard-on up into the waist-band. It's still really obvious. "I have to pee."

Brendon waits until Spencer's slammed the bathroom door behind him and then calls out, "You should totally jizz on Ryan's toothbrush!"

"I will!" Spencer calls back. Ryan throws his shoe at Brendon's head.

—

The next time Brendon actually gets a chance to properly jerk off, he's thinking about Spencer. He's not even lying to himself about it; Brendon's come to the conclusion that if he's not actually going to sleep his way through the tour, the least he can do is fantasize about it while he gets himself off.

No harm, no foul.

So at first he's thinking about Spencer, and the way Spencer sounded, and wondering if he's always that quiet, or if it was just out of necessity. Maybe he's really loud. Maybe Spencer's a little pushy, kind of like how he is normally, and maybe he'd press Brendon down into the mattress and hold him where he wanted him while they got off.

It makes his stomach tighten up a little. Brendon's caught up in the _what_ if's, what if maybe Spencer would smile at him and rub his fingers over Brendon's mouth and then shove his head down. Brendon wants to run his mouth over Spencer's hipbones, wants Spencer to buck up under him and then rub his dick over Brendon's face, one hand in his hair.

Yeah. Yeah, that would work for him.

It's a pretty standard fantasy, until Brendon hears Ryan's weird laugh from outside the bathroom, even through the hiss of the hotel shower. He tightens his grip on his dick and suddenly he's in between both of them, in his head. He could—fuck, he could go back and forth, couldn't he? Ryan's dick would probably choke him, the first few times, that thing is fucking huge, but Brendon could probably take it. And then Spencer would tug on his hair and guide him back, and he'd be thick and slightly salty on Brendon's tongue.

Brendon wonders if they'd even let him touch himself, if maybe they'd tie his hands behind his back. Maybe someone could _hold_ his hands behind his back, someone like Jon, the nice guitar tech with the thick fingers. Jon could rub his beard into the back of Brendon's neck and guide him forward, could whisper in his ear about what Brendon looks like, how well he's taking it—

"Unggh," Brendon chokes out. It's an ugly sound, and he's being really loud, and Brendon would care if he had any brain cells left. His legs are tightening up, and his stomach is tense, and what if Jon used his fingers, oh god, what if he slicked them up, and—

"Ffffuck," Brendon gasps out. When he comes, he almost cracks his skull on the wall. He holds his breath for a moment and prays this isn't going a be a repeat of that time when Ryan walked in on him in the shower when they were seventeen. He just came so hard he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to fake it.

Brendon washes himself. He rinses off the tub and the shower curtain and as he's stepping out it occurs to him that he just jerked off thinking about being in the middle of a gangbang.

That's not "wobbly," he realizes with a start. That's not "gay about the waist," or "makeout kings." That's the kind of gay where Brendon just thought about Jon the random guitar tech fingering him, and came his brains out.

In other words, that's the homosexual kind of gay.

Yeah.

"Shit," Brendon mutters, and towels himself off.

—

They move from tour to tour, like clockwork. Brendon sleeps and eats and sings and somewhere in the middle of everything, they lose Brent and gain Jon Walker.

Brendon tries to be upset, but he's not, really. Jon Walker's pretty great, and he actually shows up when he says he will.

It has nothing to do with his hands.

—

Brendon flies to Europe, and Japan, and Australia. He charms reporters and pisses his bandmates off, although often it's the other way around. He starts to smoke weed regularly, because Jon's kind of a genial pothead. He smiles for a lot of pictures.

Two weeks before it's over for good, Brendon faxes the papers over to secure the one-year lease on his new condo. They'll have six weeks off, and then they're heading up to some cabin that Ryan found on the internet to have a creative pow-wow, or something. Brendon suspects they're really just going to play Guitar Hero and get high. If they come up with anything, it will be a miracle.

The first thing Brendon does when he unlocks the door to his new condo is lay down, face-first, on his bare mattress. He sleeps for six hours, and wakes up with dry mouth and a headache.

Brendon spends the next week of his life buying a lot of random shit that he's always wanted. He buys a new couch, a dining room set, a new entertainment system, and when he's done his bank account still has lots of zeros. Brendon sits on his new couch and drinks vodka tonics and orders pizza without looking at the prices. He tips the delivery guy with a twenty. He buys pay-per-view porn.

He also meets a guy named Max.

They have sex on Brendon's bed. Brendon stays hard the whole time, even when it hurts a little. He figures that's probably the answer to his question.

—

Max is the same age as Brendon. He has no idea that Brendon's mildly famous, which is a definite plus. He works at the local music shop, and teaches bass guitar to kids on the side. He's in his second year of college.

Brendon learns all of these things while he's scoping out a vintage acoustic that he's thinking about buying. Max is an extremely laid-back salesperson. He doesn't pressure Brendon at all, just sort of hangs out with him and talks about music and every once and a while he'll remember something cool about one of the guitars and inform Brendon about it with a lazy smile. Brendon suspects he's stoned.

Brendon doesn't buy the guitar, but he does invite Max over to jam with him. Max bites his lip a little and smiles - _hey man, yeah, that would be awesome, uh, here, I guess, give me your number? -_ and Brendon doesn't examine his own intentions too closely. They agree on Saturday, sometime in the afternoon. When Brendon leaves the store, he calls Spencer and tells him he's going out of town for the weekend.

But it's not until they're both sitting on Brendon's couch, beers in hand, that Brendon thinks _yes, okay._ They're going to fuck, Brendon can feel it, and he knows with a sudden clarity that he's the only one holding everything up.

"So," Brendon fumbles, and Max swigs his beer and says, "Uh, don't punch me if I'm wrong, but you _are_ into dudes, right?"

Brendon looks at him for a minute, and then he smiles and sort of shrugs. It's the best he can do right now. At least he's being honest.

"You don't know?" Max says, and Brendon nods. "Is that cool?" he says.

"Yeah," Max says, and smiles at him, a shy twist of his mouth. His hair is slightly golden in the afternoon sunlight, and his eyelashes are blond against his cheeks. He has freckles on his nose.

Brendon leans over and kisses him.

As devirginizing experiences go, it's a pretty good one. Better than the time Brendon lost his virginity to a girl, that's for sure. They make out on Brendon's brand-new couch for a long time. Eventually, Max asks him if that's all he's up for, casually insinuating that it's no big deal and that he can just go jerk off in the bathroom. Brendon swallows and shakes his head and tells Max he wants to get fucked. He wants to see if he likes it.

"What if you don't?" Max says, frowning a little, and Brendon scrapes his teeth over Max's collarbone. "Then we'll switch," Brendon says, and Max tilts his head back and nods his approval.

They don't switch. Brendon's rolling his hips back almost as soon as Max pushes inside him, and even through the burn there's a thread of want buzzing under his skin. Max pulls out and then pushes back in, gentle, and Brendon shudders. It's overwhelming. He can't concentrate on anything else.

"You okay?" Max says, and Brendon gasps out, "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, more, c'mon."

"Awesome," Max says, softly, rubbing his thumbs over Brendon's hips. He wraps his palms around them, and gives Brendon what he asked for.


End file.
